Cash wasn't whining or scratching at the door to be let in or out, there were no squawks and squalls from exotic birds in the trees outside, no voices of people coming and going in New Atlantis.
Of course, it could have just meant he'd woken up ridiculously early in the morning, but that never happened. Not even when Jill stirred at the extremely unreasonable hour of six AM. But the digital clock on his bedside table told him it was 7:52, the sun was streaming in through the stained-glass window, and the body beside him was sleeping peacefully, so-
Wait a minute. Rodney did a mental checklist. Body: Jill's. Bed: orthopedic, his. Window: Since when did he have stained glass in his hut? Digital clock? He didn't even own a digital clock. Unless this wasn't his room.
Rodney sat up, fighting off the blanket, and stared around in bewilderment. It was his room, but not in his hut. It was his room in Atlantis. Atlantis, as in the city of, as in the one he hadn't seen for over a year now.
He got out of bed so fast he got tangled in the covers and almost went pitching head-first into his desk - his desk, littered with tablets and circuit-boards and his laptop and tools - stumbling towards the door to the balcony, which swished open at his touch, and then he was looking out over the actual city which was actually there right in front of him, the sweeping spires shimmering in the morning light, prisms reflected in the surrounding water. It was real.
It looked real, anyway, and it was still there even after he rubbed his eyes. Rodney tried pinching himself, but that just hurt. He clutched the railing and leaned against it, overwhelmed, before he finally remembered Jill.
He turned and stumbled back into his room - his room! - falling to his knees by the bed. "Jill," he hissed. "Jill! Wake up! You're never going to believe this!"
He wasn't sure he did yet.